A Ballad of Heroes and Champions
by M.A. Norris
Summary: Written in the starting of the era known as "The Age of Heroes", this story follows a select few heroes and tells of their tales through the seven kingdoms.


**~Merek~**

The storm sent waves crashing against the castle of Pyke. The newly built cobble held well from the forces of the storm. The flag of Greyjoy stood above the castle, in the midst of the fierce wind, and salty water which rained down almost as stone. Lightening struck hard from the Storm God's wrath against the favor of the Drowned Gods.

Merek listened and waited outside the chamber in which his lord brother's wife, Krea, heaved and shouted the cries of labor. "A fitting entry into this world", thought Merek. It seemed as though the Gods were doing battle and the result would also determine the unborn lord's life. Truly a day for clashes with the battle of birth in the next room, and the battle through the Pyke in which called his brother, Brom Greyjoy, husband of Krea.

Every few waits a maester would rush in and another out followed by the echo of Krea's wails. She was a young, hardy women of twenty-and-two, with dark red, curly hair and freckles spaced all over her body. If not for the occasion, and pregnancy, her traits would be that of any man's dream; fit, tight stomach from the tedious work of ship-keeping and combat, with the will of the sea's howl that could break any man, and with bossoms full and level. A match for even the most skilled Ironmen. But now, that weathered strength seemed reduced to little more than the eroded rocks upon the isle's side.

The maester of raven had earlier sent a message to Brom, but it seemed for not. Merek knew the battles would be fierce ever since the campaign had started just over several full moons ago, and even with the birth of Brom's first son, his men needed him. Thus the reason Merek was at the castle, instead of at the edge of the isle, cut off from most. Merek was the only living sibling to Brom, save that their mothers were not the same. Brom had the true salted-blood of the Iron Islands. Where Merek's blood was tainted with that of a Dorne. He was a lanky young man of six-and-ten with a tanned skinned to match his dark, flat hair. The only trait which gave him name to the Greyjoy clan was his sea-salt green eyes. The rest betrayed him for his Dornish wench of a mother.

The loudest crash thus far of the storm outside gave to a cry equally vicious and strong inside of the chamber. A white haired, scrawny maester flew from the room and grabbed onto Merek without a word and led him into the bedroom with a force that gave to great surprise.

"You must hold her," the same maester directed Merek by putting his still led hands to Krea's shoulder.

The bit about Krea's strength being reduced was overly under-stated. If anything, she had more power to her than ever before.

"Soothe her maester, least the baby dies inside! Where is the poppy?", a maester exclaimed above the wails of Krea.

His hands, black robe and chains alike were soaked in a deep red blood. The maester beside Merek replied, "We are out of the poppy, and vinsonge as well. It is now or never Bryce! If we wait, the child will asphyxiate and the mother will bleed to death!"

Maester Bryce face seemed to turn to stone with his words. His eyes fixed upon the messy form inside Krea.

"Hold onto her tight Lord Pyke," the old maester let out as he reached in the depths of Krea.

Wave after wave from the sea hit the castle with the ongoing lightening, and harsh winds. Dust and crushed cobble flew from the walls in clouds. But it was not the storm outside that seemed to shake the very foundation of the castle. Merek wished himself to be many leagues away. But still, he pushed down onto his sister-by-law with all his strength, and even that was barely enough. Krea convulsed, and shoved with every bit of power she had within her body. The birthing maester clenched his teeth, while beads of sweat poured from his head until finally, everything became quiet ... Minus the weak cry of a baby.

The breathe of Lady Krea was labored, her body lay limp and broken, but still she beckoned, "my son ... give me him."

She held him in her arms level to her breast as she looked down onto her child. Her eyes half shut, and the sparkle starting to leave she smiled at him and proclaimed "Tybalt. Tybalt of the clan Greyjoy."

With her life fading fast Krea turned to Merek and grabbed his hand. "Please, pay homage ..." Krea let out before coughing up blood.

The last of the sparkle of life fled from her eyes. Lady Krea was no more. Maester Bryce took Tybalt from his mother's corpse, wrapping him in cloth.

"We must take him to the se-" the maester was interrupted as the castle rumbled once again.

Through the castle walls, screams and shouts could be heard. Merek walked over to the chamber's window and saw half an army of troops with the sigil of a scythe with a black background. House Harlaw. And at the tip of the force, a few feet from the gates, was a huge battering ram ... with Lord Brom's naked, mutilated body at the head of it. That was the last image Merek saw before turning away and hearing the "CRUNCH!" between the battering ram and the gate. With his hands clenched into fist, and mind on nothing more than revenge, Merek rushed out of the door, sword half drawn, until Maester Bryce blocked the exit.

"You are needed here my Lord. This is not the time to go off and die for petty vengeance." Maester Bryce counciled Merek, coolheadedly.

"Then what would you have me do? Stand for such insolence? The House Harlaw stands outside our doors, with my brother's bloodied body being bludgeoned between his own home and those dirty bastards," Merek finished as he started again through the door.

Maester Bryce stopped him once again. The fury in Merek's eyes must have signaled Bryce to continue with haste, "You have a responsibility now. If Lord Brom was killed, then more than likely most of the Greyjoy's are wiped out. And those left in this castle will most likely die tonight. Merek, you must take Lord Tybalt. It is the only way. Least the Greyjoys' be snuffed out."

Merek's young blood started to settle with reason at the old maester's words. He looked over to his small nephew, still wet with the blood of his mother, and crying for something or someone to latch onto. A boy in this world entirely alone. He could relate to that.

"I will keep Tybalt safe. This I promise with my life." Merek gave his oath.

Both maester gave a slight nod and handed over the little Lord.

"We will go ahead toward the entrance. With hope, we will slow down the invaders long enough for you both to get out safely." Maester Bryce said plainly.

"Thank you both." Merek returned.

As though neither heard nor knew they were going forth toward there death, they headed down the corridor, walking at an almost leisurely pace. Merek turned to the right, which would head to a length of stair that lead down to the basement, and to the sewers of the Castle, and to their freedom. He started at a fast pace, being careful not to upset Tybalt. Merek heard the screams of men and women alike from his back. His mind raced with the thought of his uselessness. He wanted to join the fight, regardless if that took him to his grave. But his duty over Tybalt came before the fight. Now he was his protector. His mentor. His only known living family.

They reached the stairs, but from the bottom, heard the noise of heavy boots clunking up toward them. That only left up for the two survivors. Merek jumped up the length of stairs and dashed out to the top floor of the castle and across the top of the castle where he could- ... but he was too late. Harlaws' men flooded the top from all stair entrances. They were trapped. Like a corned sea creature awaiting the net of death, Merek drew his sword with one hand, and shielded little Tybalt with his other while he backed into a corner farthest away from the invaders. Tybelt was intensely crying, almost sensing the impending doom. The Harlaw men came slow and deliberate for them. Their scythe sigil seemed more the fitting. Finally, Merek backed into the stone half walls that protected people from the watery bottom below. The cold feeling on his back drew him to look beyond and see the bay, with more than an armada worth of ships destroyed behind the castle. Some crashed into the castle itself, but most crashed into one another. If it weren't for the storm, Harlaw would have more than an army to conquer Pyke, as much as that meant now.

As Merek turned around, an ocean breeze flew across his face. He smelt something more than the sea that was carried with it. He smelt Krea in it. And at that moment, Tybelt stopped crying and settled calmly into his protectors arm. Merek knew why the breeze was sent. It becokened them to the sea. With clarity in both their hearts, and bewilderment at their actions in the Harlaws', Merek sheathed his sword and climbed on top the guard, with Tybalt held firmly in his arms. He let the wind push him down, soaring toward the roaring ocean. No thought of death. No fear. Just calmness.

And then, Merek and Tybalt were given to the Drowned Gods. For what is dead may never die.


End file.
